You were a shelter
by scarxtardis
Summary: When a visitor from Highgarden comes to the Eyrie, Alayne Stone realises doesn't have to hide anymore. She was trapped, and he has freed her. Post ADWD.
1. Chapter 1

"Alayne?"

He entered her chamber door, unbidden, with a waft of mint and lemon- his scent was not an unpleasant mixture, but invasive. Just like him, supposed Alayne. She was lacing up her supple leather riding boots, one leg propped up on her dress chest. "Good morrow, father," she greeted him warmly, standing up. It _was_ a fine morning- brisk, sunny, chilly yet rosy.

Petyr smiled amiably. "Good morrow to you, my lovely daughter." His green-grey eyes examined her, his gaze slowly moving up and down, taking in her garb. Alayne had chosen to wear a chestnut coloured dress to match her hair, the square collar trimmed with cream-coloured lace. Petyr nodded in approval, advancing towards her. "How about a kiss for your father this fine morning?"

Alayne fell into the routine, dutifully pecking his bristly cheek. He had not shaved recently, and the pointed beard he was known to stroke was beginning to join up to the tiny whiskers sitting proudly on his top lip. "You are becoming as bristly as a sow, Father," she dared, giggling.

Petyr guffawed. "Cheek!" he chided. "I suppose I should shave this morning. We're to have visitors at midday. I should think they would not want to make bargains with a sow."

"Visitors?" Alayne enquired. Only two days past they had been visited- Harry the Heir had come seeking Petyr, and they had spoken in privy, while Alayne was pressed with the never-ending task of entertaining the young Robert Arryn. Alayne dared not ask Petyr what words had been exchanged between himself and Harry. "Who?"

Petyr walked over to Alayne's chamber window, drawing the drapes open. Wintry sunlight beamed through. "Only half of the Tyrell strength," he huffed.

Alayne was taken aback. "Half of the Tyrell _strength_?" she gasped, her mouth agape. "How are we to host half the Tyrell strength? Why are they coming _here?"_

Petyr massaged the bridge of his nose. "Try not to fret, Daughter Mine. I have told Tyrell that only he and his closest guardsmen will be granted access inside the castle- he was quite gracious, and told me that he would supply for his own cohort. He is coming to gather men to retake the Shield Islands. I do not know who or what he expects to find here, if you ask me."

Alayne's heart was racing beneath her skin. "Garlan Tyrell?" she felt her stomach twist inside her, bile rising into her throat. "Father, I have _met _Ser Garlan, he will recognise me, he danced with me at…" at my wedding, she almost said, but she swallowed her words. That had not been her wedding- that had been another girls wedding, a stupid little girl with auburn hair.

"Ser Garlan?" Petyr shook his head. "It is not Ser Garlan coming here today. He has sent his brother in his place, thank the lord."

Alayne froze. _No. No, no, no. _"Loras," she squeaked. _My knight of the flowers. "_Ser Loras is coming here? That is even worse. He shall recognise me for sure, I_…" I was half in love with him!_ She wanted to cry. How could this be happening? She would have to reside in her chambers for the duration of his stay.

Petyr took her hands in his. "Alayne! Darling! Calm yourself, it is not Ser Loras either. Ser Loras is half dead on Dragonstone, gods be good. It is _Willas_ Tyrell who is coming today- you have not met him. Not many people have, he is known to be quite the… recluse."

A pang for Loras went through her, but she shook off the pity. Alayne thought she had heard wrong. "Willas?" her voice shook. _Willas Tyrell._ How many times had she whispered that name into her pillow? Memories of hope and wonder filled her mind, how she had been so excited that morning to meet her future husband… but it was all for nothing. Her hopeless dream.

"Yes, sweetling. Now, come, help prepare for the visit- the young Lord will need to be bathed and fed. We will have a small feast tonight, I should think- A Tyrell is a big deal, or so everyone seems to think. I feel that Willas is something of a black sheep in the Tyrell family. Come, help me shave."

Alayne was halfway through feeding Robert a lunch of chicken broth and boiled eggs. She heard them before she saw them. The sun was high in the sky by the time half the Tyrell strength rode up, their horses whinnying in due to the treacherous, rocky terrain. Knights were yelling and swearing, weary from their travels

"Who's coming _now?"_ he asked, his thin voice taking on that spoilt, brattish tone Alayne had come to ignore. "I don't want to talk to them."

"Lord Willas Tyrell and his host are coming, Sweetrobin. And don't worry, you will not have to talk to them of business- Petyr will see to that. All you need to do is greet them and welcome them into your castle," she said, spooning broth into Robert's little red mouth. She tried to sound as cheery as possible, when really she was more nervous than she'd been in a while.

"What if I don't _want_ to welcome them into my castle?" Robert pouted.

_Gods be good,_ Alayne thought. There's always a _what if_. "Well, then you will make me very sad, my strong lord." She put on a sombre face. "You don't want to make me sad, do you?"

A small crease appeared between Robert's pale eyebrows. "Alright," he looked at his plate. "I will welcome them. For you."

"That's my brave lord." Alayne smoothed his fine hair from his face. "Now, eat your eggs and we'll go and welcome them together."

Alayne knew she would have to try to be inconspicuous. Her hair had been freshly darkened, so it was not like she would be recognisable. She was just another pretty bastard, one of thousands. Willas Tyrell was not likely to tell his sister, father or brothers about Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter. Nevertheless, her hands were slick.

Petyr was waiting downstairs at the main doors that led into the throne room. "I'll go and meet them at the gates, you wait here."

Everyone from Mya Stone to the youngest serving girl was eager to catch a glimpse of the Tyrell. The residents of the Eyrie hovered in every corner. After Petyr had descended down to the front gates, Alayne and Robert were approached by Myranda Royce, plump and pink-cheeked.

"Seven hells, a Tyrell!" she exclaimed. She put her arm around Robert protectively. "Don't you worry, My Lord, you will be completely fine. Alayne and I will be right here. After all, how scary can a flower be?" Myranda roared with laughter at her own joke.

Alayne's thoughts drifted to the cunning Margaery and Lady Olenna. _Some roses have hidden thorns, Myranda, _she thought. "Have you ever met a Tyrell before, Randa?" Alayne had grown accustomed to the nickname- Myranda was now considered a friend. She was fun, but sometimes too randy. A suited name, Alayne had to agree.

"Gods, no!" Myranda hoisted Robert onto her ample hip. "I've heard the Knight of the Flowers is quite handsome, though. Mayhaps I should like to meet one."

"Mm," Alayne made a vague sound in agreement. Alayne couldn't help but snort at the thought of Myranda flirting with Loras. Petyr had confided in Alayne a while back that Loras was not interested in women, and Alayne had scolded herself for being so blind. Now, looking back at it, it was so blatantly _obvious._

The heavy mahogany doors to the throne room were thrown open, letting in a cool breeze, and in through them walked Petyr, followed by three men. Two of them were armoured and quite ridiculously wrapped in furs- their Highgarden temperatures had not prepared them for the cool Vale air. They took in the Moon Door with fascination, silent steeds.

The other man, however, was dressed lightly in chainmail and leather- his golden brown hair was parted to the side, loose curls ruffled by the wind. He leaned heavily on a cane, his right leg twisted grotesquely. He could only be Willas Tyrell.

"Lord Littlefinger, I _must_ say, this mountain domicile is quite astonishing. I cannot express how grateful we are to you for letting us reside here- my host is rather exhausted. Oh, goodness, is that a hole in the floor?" Willas spoke a mile a minute, his tawny Tyrell eyes bright with intelligence.

Petyr chuckled. "It is no hassle, Lord Tyrell, I assure you. And yes, that's the Moon Door."

Willas hobbled over to the Moon Door, enraptured. "How intriguing." He looked up at Petyr, his eyes drifting towards Robert, Alayne and Myranda. His face suddenly filled with horror. "Lord Baelish, I apologise- I've been so rude. Please, introduce me."

Alayne felt her stomach flutter as she examined Willas. He did look like Loras, Garlan and Margaery, but his demeanour seemed so different. He spoke as if everything was a wonder to him, and his face was not cool and calculating like Margaery or Olenna, nor was it arrogant and guarded like Loras- his face looked open, warm, excited.

Robert's face was buried in Myranda's shoulder when Petyr attempted to introduce them. "Lord Willas, this is Jon Arryn's heir and Lord of the Vale, Robert Arryn." He leaned in to whisper, "you may want to approach him carefully."

Myranda propped Robert on the floor.

"Hello there, Lord Robert. It is an honour to meet you." Willas smiled genially, holding out his hand unthreateningly for Robert to shake. Robert sniffed, wiped his nose, and quickly squeezed the offered hand. Alayne noted Willas had the good grace not to wipe his hand on his breeches.

Willas turned back to Petyr, a sympathetic expression crossing his face. "Lord Baelish, I must say, I'm grievously sorry for your loss of the Lady Lysa," he said. He smiled down at Robert. "She must have been a great lady, to bring up such a handsome, well-mannered young man all by herself!"

_Well-mannered is not a description Petyr would use,_ Alayne thought inwardly. Willas moved his attention to Myranda. "Greetings, My Lady."

"This is Myranda Royce, daughter of Lord Nestor Royce," Petyr said, patiently tenting his fingers.

Myranda held out her soft, white hand. Willas kissed it gently. "You may kiss the other one too, if you like," Myranda added, nonchalant. Her dark eyes twinkled mischievously.

Willas laughed aloud. "I shall!" He kissed her other hand. "Well met, Lady Royce." Finally, Willas turned to Alayne. His eyes widened slightly, and only seconds later a large smile broke out on his face.

"Lord Willas, this is my natural-daughter, Alayne Stone," Petyr introduced her as if she were high-born and not a bastard. He let that fact slip his mind too, sometimes.

Willas's eyes looked deeply into Alayne's, his gaze so intense she looked at her feet, blushing. She curtsied neatly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Tyrell."

Willas bowed. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Stone." When he straightened, a grimace was thinly concealed on his face. He bit down on his lip as if to stifle a moan.

"My Lord?" Alayne's brow furrowed. What have I done wrong? "Is ought amiss?" _Gods, I'm a stupid girl. I always mess something up._

Petyr swooped in. "How rude of me, Lord Willas. I forgot about your leg. Come, we'll sort out some milk of the poppy or a warm bath, perhaps…"

_His leg._ Alayne was hit with the realisation.

"No!" Willas grunted, a little too loudly. "I mean, no, thank you, Lord Baelish, I'm quite alright. It has just been a long ride, that's all. I should like to be taken to my chambers, if that is alright."

"Of course. Alayne, see Lord Willas to his chambers- make sure he is comfortable and settled in." He gestured for Myranda and Robert to follow him back upstairs to the solar. "We will be in the solar at dusk for a feast, Lord Willas." He ascended the stairs without a second glance backwards- Myranda winked as she passed Willas.

Alayne was left alone with Willas. She awkwardly dithered beside him, wondering what she could do to help. "My lord, would… do you need some aid, a stool…?"

"Pah!" Willas was leaning heavily on his cane. "My thanks, but I am fine, Lady Stone. Truly." His voice quavered slightly. His face was pale with pain as he staggered in the direction of where he guessed his chambers would be.

Alayne had turned a blind eye to too many lies in the past. She knew when someone wasn't alright. She tried not to giggle at Willas's determination. "My lord, I think you should follow me if you would like to find your chambers. They are in the opposite direction."

Willas lifted a finger, spinning around "I knew that." He strode in the direction Alayne began to lead him in, eager to be ahead. His leg slowed him, and he let out a groan of agony as he stumbled on the slippery stone floor.

"Oh!" Alayne gasped, grabbing hold of his shoulder. "I insist, my lord, lean on me. I can see you are in pain."

Willas's cheeks flushed pink. "My… my thanks, Lady Stone." He timidly rested his arm around her shoulders. Alayne flipped her dark hair out of her face. Willas kept his eyes to the floor, wincing with each step.

They made their slow, silent journey to Willas's chamber within ten minutes. They paused outside the heavy wooden doors as Alayne unlocked them, fiddling with the key. "I hope you find your chambers to your liking, my lord. My father and I will see that your chests make it here quickly."

"I'm not a fussy man, and I'm sure my clothes will be just fine. It's my books I'm concerned for. They are quite heavy, I warn you." Willas was known for being an avid reader, Alayne remembered. She longed for a good book every now and again.

Once the doors were open, Willas stood in the threshold, scratching the back of his neck. "Gods, how humiliating," he mumbled under his breath.

"My lord?" she could not imagine he was any more humiliated than her.

Willas laughed hardly. "The minute I get here, I all but collapse! I must say, I owe you many thanks for your shoulder to lean on."

Alayne noticed that was the third time he said _"I must say." _An endearing little phrase, she thought vaguely. "It was my pleasure, my lord."

"Willas. Please," he smiled warmly.

Alayne frowned. "But… my lord, I…"

"I am no lord, Lady Stone. My father was the lord of Highgarden. Nor am I a ser, like Loras and Garlan. And as hard to it is to believe, nor am I a queen, like Margaery."

Alayne could not help but giggling at that. "If it pleases you, my… Willas," she stammered. _My Willas?_ She realised what she'd said, mortified. She busied herself by entering his chambers to draw open the curtains.

Willas's face was amused. "My Willas. Ah, those are memories from my childhood! That's what my mother called me," he spoke easily, hobbling over to the cushioned seat beside the window. "Again, many thanks, my lady. I will see you at dinner in the solar tonight, will I not?"

"I will be there," Alayne avoided his eyes, curtsying. "I… hope your leg feels better." She hurried out the door.

_What a funny man, _she thought to herself. He was not at all like his siblings. Alayne once would have thought that a flaw, but she found it rather refreshing. He seemed more… real. She remembered, in wonder, that she might've been his wife.

No, she told herself. That had been another girl.


	2. Chapter 2

Dusk fell over the Eyrie, cool and dark. Alayne had spent the afternoon helping Petyr organise the Tyrell strength and their amenities. She found she couldn't help but be slightly excited for the feast. She thought Willas Tyrell an odd fellow, but pleasant. Not to mention, she was ravenous- she was eager for the food and all but skipped to the solar where Petyr, Myranda, Robert and Willas were sitting around a simple yet splendid feast set out on the table.

"Here she is!" Petyr smiled at her, the smile not quite reaching those grey-green eyes. Willas bobbed his head at her.

"Good evening, Lady Stone," he greeted her pleasantly. His eyes didn't leave hers. "I _must_ say…"

"Alayne! Come sit next to me, I saved you a seat!" Robert Arryn interrupted Willas from the opposite end of the table, patting the chair next to him. Alayne swept over to him, ruffling his hair.

"Now, my lord, you shouldn't interrupt people when they're halfway through a sentence," she chided gently, furtively sending an apologetic smile in Willas's direction. "But I _will _sit next to you."

"Indeed," Petyr agreed. He selected a choice cut of venison, placing it on his plate. He gestured for everyone to do the same. "You may begin. Now, what were you going to say, Lord Willas?"

Willas spread his arms out to the table. "This feast looks magnificent. You must have quite the cooks here. I must thank them afterwards," he chose some morsels and ate delicately, savouring every bite.

He is a man who loves life, Alayne thought. He enjoys little things. Alayne wished she could do the same, but all the little things she enjoyed had been taken away from her. She nibbled daintily on a chicken leg.

"Willas, how is your leg? It must ail you so," Myranda simpered. She was sitting beside Willas, her doe-eyes moist and sympathetic.

Willas shook his head graciously. "My thanks for your concern, Lady Royce. I have gotten used to it. It still pains me, but it's alright- I was never very good at jousting, anyhow. I prefer to sit back and read, or study the stars. Loras and Garlan are the true knights- I don't believe I was meant to be in tourneys or court."

Myranda nodded, patting his thigh. Willas shifted uncomfortably. "Did you hold a grudge against Prince Oberyn for what he did to you?" she asked.

"Who is Prince Oberyn?" Robert interjected lously.

Willas's cheerful face was overcome with sadness. "The day it happened, I cursed him to all seven hells. But Oberyn and I kept in touch- we wrote each other every moon." He played with the food on his plate absently. "I forgave him. I grieved him."

"Prince Oberyn was a dornishman, Sweetrobin. A very clever and witty man," Alayne whispered to Robert. She looked at Willas. The grief on his face was so real and raw it made her hur for himt.

Petyr, sensing the awkwardness, swooped in. "Lady Myranda, I think you are taking Lord Willas slightly off guard!" he said lightly, reaching for a pitcher of wine. "Some wine, my lord? The Arbor's finest, I can assure you."

"No, thank you, Lord Baelish, I'm fine with water," Willas replied. His eyes caught Alayne's, clear and bright. His intelligent gaze searched her face, inquisitive. She wondered what he was looking for. She dropped her eyes quickly, busying herself with the cheese on her plate.

"How is your family at present, Lord Willas? Have you heard from Ser Garlan recently? And is there news of Ser Loras or Queen Margaery?" Myranda asked, snatching the pitcher from Petyr and pouring herself a large goblet of red wine.

A small dimple appeared between Willas's straight eyebrows. "I have not had word from Garlan since about two weeks ago- that was when he sent me here. I still do not know what my aim is, but he said he will write me soon. Loras…" he bit his lip. "Loras, I have not heard from. I pray for him constantly. I lie awake all night worrying about my incessant little brothers!" He laughed nervously, taking a sip of water. Alayne noticed his hand was shaking.

As did I, she thought. Every night, I prayed for Bran and Rickon. Her throat became thick, her heart heavy. She was aware of Willas's eyes, still on her face. She feared she had let some emotion show.

"And Margaery…" Willas continued, "I have written to Margaery every week, but she does not reply. They are very secretive about my sister the Queen." He finished his water.

Petyr nodded. "I'm sure your siblings are well. They are Tyrells, after all!" he winked at Myranda, who laughed bawdily.

"I think they are stronger than I, Lord Baelish," Willas stated softly.

Robert fidgeted, left out of the conversation. "Alayne, can you tell us a story? I'm bored, and you tell good stories," he asked, grabbing a potato with his grotty hand. Petyr breathed out heavily through his nostrils.

Alayne rested her hand on Robert's shoulder. "Sweetrobin, now isn't the time for a story. I promise I will tell you one tomorrow, one with dragons and knights and everything you like," she assured.

"I should like to hear a story, as well!" Willas clasped his hands together. "My books are becoming ponderous reads. May I join you for your story?" he enquired. He looked to Alayne. "If it iss alright, of course."

Robert's rheumy eyes narrowed. Myranda nodded, encouraging Robert to do the same. "I… I suppose," he sniffed.

Petyr chortled. "Is Highgarden lonely with only you and your books there, Lord Willas?"

Willas waved a dismissive hand. "I have never been the most social fellow. I enjoy the company of my dogs and hawks. I've found that they hardly ever reveal your secrets or argue with you."

Dogs, Alayne remembered. She'd been told, a lifetime ago, that Willas bred dogs. She had imagined them together with puppies on their laps when they'd supposedly been betrothed. What a stupid dream that had been. "What are your dog's names?" she blurted, unaware of the fact that she'd just asked such a ridiculous question. She cringed at her own folly.

Willas faltered a little at her question, surprised. An expression of utter glee crossed his face. "I have too many to name, Lady Stone, but I have a number of favourites- my oldest, Rosie, such an original name, I know, she is a delight. My hunter, Meraxes, was bred to be fierce- but he is a coward if you've ever met one, believe me!" he launched into a long list of names.

Petyr nodded courteously, Myranda attempted to seem interested, and Robert was half-asleep- but Alayne was enraptured. She longed to have a dog again. A pang went through her for her Lady.

"… and that's it, I believe," Willas finished, picking up his empty goblet. "I'm glad you asked." He turned his goblet upside down, astounded by the fact that there was no more water in it. "Lady Stone, could you please pass the water?"

As Alayne went to pass the jug, Robert Arryn leant across the table to take a leg of lamb from Myranda's plate. Alayne's hand slipped around the cool metal, and icy water spilt everywhere- over the lace tablecloth, the nut platter, Myranda and… Willas.

"Oh, gods!" Myranda yelped. Alayne jumped back, covering her mouth. Petyr swore loudly.

"Gods be good…" he pushed Robert out of the way, mopping Willas up with a cloth he'd found. "I apologise, Lord Willas, it's not usually like this…" he turned, eyes blazing, to Robert. "Why can't you just behave for once, you insolent little…"

"No, I'm fine, it's fine!" Willas stood up, dripping onto the floor. He leaned heavily on his cane. "Though, the water's a bit chilly." A sodden curl stuck limply to his forehead.

Alayne had frozen on the spot. "Oh, my lord, I am so, so very sorry, it was an accident, I swear…" Alayne searched frantically for a cloth, but could only find her dress. She tried desperately to sop up the water on the table with her skirts.

"Lady Stone, I am perfectly fine. Rain makes the roses grow." He tried not to let any water spill onto the goatskin rug on the floor.

Alayne smiled gratefully at him, turning to Robert. His little hands had begun to shiver. "I'm s-s-sorry, M-My Lord," he whimpered, little spasms rocking through him. Oh no, not now, Alayne thought, please, not now.

"Myranda, see that Robert gets his milk of the poppy!" Petyr boomed. Myranda nodded, hoisting the convulsing child over her shoulder. Alayne was blushing furiously. "Alayne, take Lord Willas and clean him up. Again, my Lord, we do apologize for his behaviour, he is still young…"

"Do not apologize, Lord Baelish, it is nothing," he reassured. "Go see to Lord Robert."

Petyr bowed his head to Willas, rushing after Myranda. Alayne hastily wheeled Willas from the solar, down the stairs to his chambers. He limped along after her as she muttered apologies to him the whole way.

They entered his chambers, Alayne muttering under her breath.

"Stupid, stupid girl." Gods, she was horrified that she'd let this happen. She truly was as daft as everyone thought.

"Lady Stone!" Willas interrupted her. She looked up at him nervously. His loose curls were unravelling over his forehead, and for an absurd moment Alayne wanted to push them away from his face. The feeling was ephemeral. "Lady Stone, I will tell you again- I am fine. It is nothing I haven't experienced before- younger siblings, remember?"

Alayne's discomfort slowly ebbed away when she saw he wasn't angry. "I am sorry, though," she whispered meekly.

A dimple bloomed in Willas's cheek. "And I forgive you, wholeheartedly. You carried me to my chambers earlier, consider it revenge." He shrugged off his sodden doublet, his undershirt transparent and clinging to his lean frame.

She turned away hastily, pretending that she hadn't even noticed the outline of his body through the cloth. "I… I will fetch you some "Some dry linen, I'll fetch some dry linen…"

"You do not have to," said Willas.

"No, but I am going to," replied Alayne.

She barely heard him laugh as she hurried to find the maids linen closet, finding the largest, softest sheets. When she returned to Willas's chambers, she hesitated outside the heavy door. It was open, just a fraction. She could see him kneeling beside his chest of clothing, searching for something else to don.

Willas had discarded his drenched undershirt, and Alayne could not help but peek. She had seen men's bodies before, but never like this. She'd seen old, rotund men and large, seasoned knights, their bodies hard and weathered. This was a different experience.

She'd imagined- no, not imagined, what type of maid would imagine a man without his garb?- she'd thought, long in the past, that Willas Tyrell would have the same slender, reed-like figure as his brother Loras, but it was quite different. He was not muscled, like Loras had been- he was slender, but soft. Lean, but not muscular. It was not a knight's body. It was a bookkeepers.

This whole peeping session lasted no more than ten seconds. She scolded herself for being so vulgar, and knocked on the door. "May I come in?"

Willas rapidly slipped on a new undershirt. "Yes, yes, come in!" He sat down on his bed, his leg stretched out. "You were quick."

Alayne set the linen down on the seat beside the window. From here, she could see the stars slowly appearing in the distance.

She felt Willas's eyes on her back. "You're quiet, Lady Stone," Willas stated from behind her, blatant and honest.

Alayne felt her eyebrows rise. "And you are not, my lord."

The side of Willas's lip quirked up slightly. "You are quiet, but from what I can see, you have a quick wit about you." He opened his mouth as if to say more, but stopped.

Alayne was taken aback. No one had ever told her she had quick wits. How many times had Cersei and Joffrey reminded her of what a dolt she was? "I… I doubt that highly, Lord Willas."

Willas tilted his head to the side. "You should not." He lifted his leg up onto the bed, wiggling his toes. He let out a sigh of relief. Alayne noticed he did not lift up the leg of his breeches to relieve it- perhaps he was ashamed. "Did you know, Lady Stone, that you speak with your eyes?"

Alayne frowned, puzzled. Eyes? "My lord? I don't understand."

Willas pointed to his eyes, sparkling from the light of the bedside candle. "You. You speak with your eyes. They talk. Since I arrived here earlier, our eyes have already had many conversations."

Alayne felt herself smile quizzically, unbidden. "Eyes cannot speak," she opened the shutters to the window.

"Can't they? Then am I wrong to think yours have conversed with me?" he spoke gently, wincing slightly. His leg was as stiff as a board.

"Are you japing with me?" Alayne enquired. "You are. You are japing."

Willas beamed at her. "Do you enjoy japes, Alayne?"

"Well, it depends on the jape. I have not experienced a good jape in a while."

"Mm," Willas nodded. "You told me earlier. With your large blue eyes," he pointed to his own eyes, golden and gleaming with mischief.

Alayne could not contain the giggle that erupted from her mouth. "Forgive me, Lord Willas, but you are strange!" she exclaimed through a fit of laughter. She shook her head, disbelieving. "I must leave, Petyr- Father will need help with Robert. And again…"

"… You are sorry for spilling water on me. And again, I forgive you," his eyes fluttered shut. "Go if you must. I will see you on the morrow, will I not?"

"If you would like, My Lord." She curtsied. "I bid you good night, Lord Willas."

"And you, Lady Stone."

She left with a grin plastered to her face. She was so bewildered by their conversation that she did not even hear Willas say "I would like to."


	3. Chapter 3

Morning came, and Alayne woke to a beam of sunlight streaming through her chamber window. She had spent half the night trying to comprehend Willas's words- you speak with your eyes. Whatever did he mean by that? She dressed swiftly, remembering that she had to help set breakfast up. She'd almost forgotten that Robert had had an episode last night; she was so perplexed by the other Tyrell brother. He was quite unlike anyone she'd ever come across.

Alayne hurried to the solar, drawing her fur collar tighter around her neck. It was an icy morning, and goosebumps prickled her skin. She was the first one in the solar, other than the serving girls, who were laying out cutlery and the table linen. They chattered excitedly with one another, not noticing Alayne in the doorway.

"He's handsome, isn't he?" one of them said, wiping the mahogany table. Her dark ringlets bounced as she gushed. "But not in a common way."

"I s'pose," the other one replied, putting down her platters of fruit and bread. "But he's a Tyrell, so Lord Littlefinger can't trust him."

The dark-haired one made a rude sound. "And you can trust Lord Littlefinger?" she laughed.

Alayne cleared her throat. It was only then that the pair of serving girls noticed her standing there. They both curtsied hurriedly. "My lady," the second one stammered, blushing. The first one did the same.

Alayne nodded at them. "Thank you for your service," she said steadily, dismissing them. They hastily made their way from the room, heads down. Alayne sat down at the table, pondering what the curly-haired maid had said so incredulously. Can you trust Lord Littlefinger?

She was lost in thought, a strand of chestnut hair wound around her finger, when she was joined in the solar.

"What a glorious morning!" an enthusiastic voice exclaimed, jolting Alayne from her trance. She turned in her seat to see Willas Tyrell- she should have guessed by the tone of his voice- marvelling at the view of the through the large solar windows.

Alayne jumped to her feet and curtsied. "Good morning, Lord Willas. I… how was your first night in the Eyrie?"

"Lady Stone!" Willas smiled brightly. "It is a good morning, isn't it? Marvellous!" he gestured to the sun rising over the snow-capped mountains. "My night was perfectly fine, thank you. My chambers were more than enough." He bit his lip. "How does Lord Robert fare?"

"I am glad you found them to your liking." Alayne hadn't seen Robert this morning. "I have not seen my father or Lord Robert this morning. You are the first here, besides the serving girls and me."

Willas nodded. "Well, I am something of an early bird myself. I enjoy the peacefulness." Willas sat across from Alayne, eying the food. "You have not broken your fast?"

Alayne frowned. "It would hardly be polite to break my fast without anyone else at the table," she stated.

Willas threw up his hands. "Goodness, look at me. How rude can someone be? Of course it isn't polite." He shook his head, as if chiding himself. "I should need you to reteach me my table manners, Lady Stone! You know what you are talking about."

Alayne bit back a smile. "I've learnt from the best." She winced at her own words after she said them. It sounded as if she were conceited, as if she were calling the Tyrell's inferior. Willas hardly noticed.

"Manners are more becoming than wickedness, I think," Willas said, straightening his leg. "My sister seems to think herself quite alluringly wicked at times. I've often told her that manners would work better for her, but she's Margaery, and there's no changing Margaery's mind. You have a very polite demeanour, Lady Stone. It is quite charming, and refreshing."

"Why, thank you, Lord Willas." Alayne felt her stomach flip. Alluringly wicked. If there were two words to describe Margaery, those wouldn't have been the ones Alayne would have chosen. "I found Margaery quite polite, actually."

Willas arched his eyebrow, surprised. "You have met her?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Alayne hadn't met Margaery. That was another girl.

Alayne stumbled for words. Her tongue felt like stone. "I… well, we…"

As if the gods had answered her prayers, Petyr entered the room with Robert trailing behind. "Good morrow, Lord Willas! Good morrow, beautiful daughter!" he kissed her on the cheek as he passed her, lingering a little longer than he should have.

"Alayne!" Robert climbed onto her lap, wrapping his skinny arms around her neck. "Your chambers were locked last night, I couldn't get in. Why were they locked?"

"Perhaps Alayne needs some privacy every now and again, Little Lord," Petyr hinted. Alayne hugged Robert back, her eyes locked firmly on the table. She felt Willas's burning, quizzical gaze.

"How was your night, Lord Willas?" Petyr enquired, gesturing for everyone to start breaking their fast. Alayne pried Robert off her lap and served him an applecake.

"It was very pleasant, thank you. I should like to come here more often." Willas chose a hard-boiled egg vaguely, attention snapping to Petyr. "I was wondering if maybe I could have a tour of the whole place, if it would be alright."

"I'm pleased your leg did not hurt." Petyr fiddled with the mockingbird pin on his lapel. "Ah of course. A tour can most definitely be arranged. Alayne knows it the Eyrie off the back of her hand, she can guide you. Can't you, Alayne?"

Alayne looked up. Petyr nodded reassuringly at her. What better way to keep up the façade than this? "Y- Yes. Of course. I would be glad to show you around, Lord Willas."

After breakfast, Alayne led Willas down the swirling stairwell beneath the keep, and out into the snow-covered yard below. He took some times descending, but Alayne waited for him patiently at the foot of the stairs.

His lips trembled into an insecure smile when he reached the bottom. "I apologize for being so slow." He scuffed his boot on the icy cobblestone floor.

Alayne shook her head, pushing open the heavy doors before them. "Do not apologize. You sound quite like me!" she told him. The doors opened, and the view of the icy gardens greeted them. Alayne heard Willas's gasp of delight, cherishing the sound.

"Gods be true," he whispered in awe, "I am in a dream. I have not yet woken up." His words turned to white mist as they stepped outside. "Lady Stone, you must pinch me."

Alayne gave him a double take. "My Lord?"

Willas held out a gloved hand to her. "Just give it a squeeze, then. I must know I am awake."

Alayne could feel two red spots blooming in her cheeks as she tentatively squeezed his hand. She was almost certain she felt him squeeze back- maybe it was just her. She drew her hand away quickly, clasping it with her other hand.

Willas knelt down, picking up a handful of snow, letting it slip through his fingers. "I am not dreaming, then," Willas marvelled at the crystallized trees and the icicles hanging off the doorway. "Oh, this is just splendid."

Something dawned on Alayne. "Have you… have you never seen snow, my lord?" she asked, astounded.

"I must admit, I haven't. I have only left Highgarden twice, this being the third time." They continued strolling through the ice gardens, the evergreen hedges sparkling in the fresh sunlight. Willas seemed to walk so easily with his cane- it was as if it were a third leg.

The fact that he'd never seen snow seemed implausible to Alayne. He had never experienced the thrill of a snowball fight with his siblings, or the pleasure of sitting beside a hearth while a blizzard raged on outside. "This must be like a whole new world for you," she breathed.

"It is, it is. But you look quite like you belong here, Lady Stone," he examined her. "A snow maiden, you are."

Under his intrigued gaze, Alayne's ears burnt hot. She walked ahead of him. "You must see the lake, my lord. On clear days, it's a beautiful blue colour."

She led the way. The lake was large, about ninety feet in diameter. Overnight, it had frozen over, and the wet light made it glimmer. Alayne came here sometimes to think, to perhaps remember other frozen lakes she had sat by on nights long past. Willas was enraptured instantaneously.

"Beautiful," he breathed. He hesitated, looking to Alayne. "You don't suppose…" he began.

"… I don't suppose…?" she prompted. She was amazed at her own boldness with this lord. But Alayne seemed to feel quite natural around him.

"You don't suppose it's strong enough to stand on, do you? Is the ice thick enough?"

Alayne considered the ice carefully. She had ice-skated enough times to see that it was thick enough to hold their weights. "I think it's strong enough, yes."

Willas flashed a cheeky grin at her before stepping gingerly onto the ice. "I feel the most incredible urge to just…" he cautiously shuffled along the cobalt coloured ice, his cheeks flushed with pleasure. He made it to the centre of the lake, and twirled around with a whoop.

Alayne enjoyed watching him, but she was concerned. It was his first time on the ice. "My lord, are you sure you should…?" Alayne started, but at that instant, Willas's twisted leg skidded out beneath him, and he landed with a thump on his behind. Alayne jumped, following him onto the frozen lake. "Oh, gods…"

When she reached him, he laughed. "I am fine, Lady Stone! Better than fine, actually." He ran his hands over the glassy ice.

The snowflakes melting in his golden-brown hair reminded Alayne of someone else, someone from long ago. She reached out a hand to help him to his feet. "I can tell you are not familiar with any sorts of ice, either."

"It's quite obvious, isn't it?" Willas replied, taking her hand. As he tried pulling himself to his feet, the counterbalance did not seem to quite work as they had planned. He was slim, but he weighed quite a bit more than Alayne did, and before she knew it, her boots slipped along the ice.

"Oh, no…!" Alayne cried, realising that she was going to fall. Her legs were awkwardly spreading in different directions, and Willas has grabbed a handful of her skirts to hold her erect.

Alayne finally found her centre of balance, and stood up straight, her feet firmly planted on the ice. Willas remained sitting, clutching Alayne's skirts.

"I am incredibly sorry, Lady Stone," he released her bustle.

"No! Do not be sorry, you held me upright. Just as I held you upright yesterday." She huffed, her words creating a steam. "Let's try again. Give me your cane."

"We must cease from apologizing to each other every second sentence." Willas handed his cane over.

Alayne held it out horizontally to him. "Grab hold of it, and I'll try to lift you up."

Willas obeyed, and after many grunts of effort and stammered apologies, ("What did I just say?") he was on his unstable feet. As he stood, he marvelled at his own balance… but only fleetingly. He began to sway slightly, and he stumbled forwards, straight into Alayne. She gasped, struggling to keep him upright.

Willas's face was uncomfortably close to hers, she soon realised. She felt his breath on her cheek, and his eyes on hers. They stood like that for a few moments, before something very strange happened. It was as if the tension between them had just evaporated.

Alayne felt the queerest sense to just… laugh.

It started with a slight giggle, which Willas reciprocated. But soon, they were both roaring with raucous, untamed laughter, as if it were the most normal thing in the world that they were locked in this compromising position on the ice, her hands clasped tightly around his bony elbows, his nose close to clashing hers.

"This," Willas wheezed between fits of laughter, "is ludicrous."

Alayne had tears in her eyes. It had been so long since she had laughed like this. She couldn't remember the last time. "Let's try… and get back to safety!" she could not help the unladylike snort that escaped her nose.

They manoeuvred themselves precisely and carefully back to the bank, laughing the whole way. The pair were only about twenty-five feet from safety, before it started to become a bit difficult.

A sound came from beneath them, a tiny, crackling sound- almost like a woodfire spitting and hissing. "What was that?" Willas asked, his laughter ebbing away.

Alayne's stomach flipped. She recognised that sound. It was the sound of thin ice being put under a lot of pressure. "We need to move. Quickly."

"Was it the ice?" Willas paled. Alayne did not answer- she pushed on towards the bank, her jaw set with determination.

They began to shuffle at a quicker pace, but Willas's leg made it a challenge. "Come on, we must go faster…" Alayne began, before an incredibly loud cracking sound echoed around them. Willas looked at the ice beneath them, and his expression was one of horror. The ice had developed a large crevasse, and It was rapidly widening- just beneath Alayne.

"Alayne, "ALAYNE!" he cried, but it was too late. It happened so quickly, Alayne didn't even realise it had happened at all. The solid ground beneath Alayne's feet shattered and fell away, and a piercing, bone-chilling cold swallowed her up.


End file.
